


Stories of the Second Self: Valor

by John_Steiner



Series: Alter Idem [179]
Category: Urban Fantasy - Fandom, lockdown - Fandom, military veterans - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:42:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/John_Steiner/pseuds/John_Steiner
Summary: Homeless in the dead of Cincinnati's winter, Year Zero of Alter Idem, Osborn struggles even with enough change for a meal. Camped out by a freeway off ramp, Osborn witnesses a car slide into a bank of snow. Next, a werewolf resident of Norwood becomes enraged at the driver for simply being in the wrong place. Osborn stands up to help the driver despite his reservations, defining what a hero is on the inside.
Series: Alter Idem [179]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618813
Kudos: 1





	Stories of the Second Self: Valor

"Three, twenty-nine," the gas station cashier said.

Osborn handed over the wad of two one-dollar bills and all the change wrapped in them. The cashier pealed back the bills and counted up the change. "You're short forty-one cents."

Osborn went through all his pockets while eyeing the triangle-cut sandwich in its plastic container. He'd not eaten in over thirty hours, and he hoped desperately that he'd missed something when getting all his money together.

"Damn," Osborn muttered, and was about to push back the sandwich and leave with his money.

"It's only forty-one," the cashier said and pulled change out of the tray near the register. "There's plenty here."

"Thanks man," Osborn accepted and picked up the sandwich.

"Hey," the cashier called after him. "When's the last time you had a good shower."

"Couple of weeks," Osborn answered, and left without looking back.

Replying the question in his head, Osborn realized the cashier hadn't been mocking him, but sounded sympathetic. He wasn't sure what the cashier would've followed up with, since pretty much everyone was in a tight spot, though some worse than others.

Heading back to the Freeway 71 off ramp he'd camped out at, Osborn sad down and bundled back up before opening the sandwich package. Late December in the first winter of Alter Idem and Osborn ate amid twenty inches of snow., the gray scruff of his face catching crumbs.

Halfway, through the second second cut, Osborn noticed a car sliding into a heavy snowdrift. The driver side door unlatched, but whoever was inside couldn't get the door open. They then tried the passenger side, which gave only after some shoving.

Then, Osborn noticed the werewolf closing in on the car. Fully changed, Osborn couldn't tell if the therianthrope was a man or a woman, but they definitely seemed agitated by the person in the car.

Not willing to risk what little food he had, Osborn took another bite while watching the scene with growing concern. Yet, the shrill scream from inside the car pulled at his conscience. The werewolf swatted at the door window and snapped their teeth at the woman inside.

Shaking his head, Osborn put what was left back in the package and buried it under the several filthy tattered blankets he had huddled in. Then he trotted over to the car, despite his knees feeling weak for more than one reason. He'd gotten used to werewolves running around Norwood, but none had yet been violent toward him yet. Having gone without food for more than a day made him tremble as well.

"H-hey," Osborn called out to the werewolf he approached. "I, um, think you need to leave her alone."

"What zz'he wh'uck you gonna do a'out it?" The werewolf gnashed at him, barely able to form the words.

Now Osborn's fear overtook his hunger, despite edging himself in front of the car door. "Just lay off. She's had an accident...."

The werewolf cut him off with gurgling grows that jolted Osborn to where he almost pissed himself.

"Out da way!" the werewolf growled, as the mane rose with the intensity of the yellow-eyed stare. "You shits don't 'elong in our hood!"

"Oh my god, she's gonna hurt us," the woman in the car shouted.

The werewolf pulled her lips back even more and flexed her clawed fingers to emphasize the point.

"You know what?" Osborn suddenly burst out, "Fuck you! I live here too! I don't know what your problem is, but she didn't do anything to you. Just leave her alone."

"Or what?" the werewolf glowered.

Osborn wasn't sure what, but by the time he had something to say, a hard paw swipe struck across his face. Flung sideways, he slammed into the car's hood pretty hard. Stunned from the double hit to his head, Osborn barely registered the fact his cheek felt cold steel. He lingered on that sensation until shakily pushed off the car.

A broiling anger rose up, and Osborn whirled around with a right fist. Which landed solidly against an all too quickly catching half-canine paw. Again with a swat across the face that knocked him into the snow drift. This time Osborn had the sense to feel his face, wondering if he'd been clawed.

Then, something pushed Osborn down into the snow completely. He realized the werewolf was stepping on him, and he turned around to grab at her foot. However, instead he felt her paws latch onto his jacket and heft him up off the ground with an enraged shake.

That canine muzzle was inches from his face. Osborn didn't think, he simply reacted on impulse. Turnabout was fair play, when Osborn's dull human yellowed teeth pinched onto the soft tissue. The yelping hurt his ear, but it was satisfying nonetheless.

The werewolf let go of Osborn instantly, and he collapsed on front of the passenger door. The yelping was still on his ears when Osborn felt a kick to his stomach and a few more hits to his back and head.

After, all became quiet. Osborn just lay there gasping and crying, regretting ever getting involved, and wondered if the werewolf were about to go full out with bites and clawing. When nothing happened for a prolonged moment, he dared look.

The werewolf apparently had her fill and was trouncing off across the road, heedless of cars stopping or swerving to avoid her. Then, Osborn felt the car door pushing on him.

Forcing himself up onto his hands and knees, tears freezing on his face, Osborn still not able to get a solid breath. However, warm hands lay onto his shoulders.

"How bad are you hurt?" the driver asked.

Osborn didn't answer, just broke down and bawled right there.

"I'm so sorry," the driver soothed, "I knew she was a crazy bitch, but you didn't deserve that."

Wiping at his face, Osborn uneasily rose and staggered back to his stuff. Only he saw two other homeless people making off with it, though one offered a remorseful face looking back at him.

"You don't have a place to stay, do you?" the woman observed.

"Shelters won't take me in," Osborn replied, recalling the site of homeless women and children being ushered around him.

The woman, wearing a warm and fresh smelling thick coat and contrasting thin gloves, pulled out her phone to dial. Osborn noted the car looked expensive, while hearing the driver gripe about reception.

"Do you need a push to get out?" Osborn offered.

The woman stopped everything to stare at him. "After all that? You want to push my car out of the snow?"

"It'll keep me warm," Osborn observed.

Her eyes reddened, while Osborn tromped into the drift to position himself in front of her car. She got in and started the ignition. When the engine turned over Osborn shoved with everything he had left. An hour must have gone by before people from two other cars pulled over to help.

With sufficient human power, the lady's car was out of the drift, and Osborn lost his footing to end up in the snow again. Pairs of hands helped him up in time to see the woman rolling down the window.

"I can still take you some place to stay, if you want," she called out to him.

Looking to where his stuff had been, Osborn wiped away tears again and headed over to the passenger side. By now a police car had stopped, but one of the other drivers who helped was waving off the cop who stepped out.

"God," the woman heaved, as Osborn got into the car with her. "I can't imagine standing up to a beast like that. You sure you're okay?"

"Hurts," Osborn grabbed at his stomach, where he was sure bruising started.

"You must be brave to be out here at night with them and vampires running around," the woman praised.

"No really," Osborn answered, shaking his head at himself.

It didn't take bravery to be homeless in surreal times. Just being shit out of luck. It reminded Osborn of Samarra, Iraq. The only thing Osborn had of his old life left to him were the Bronze Star and Purple Heart in his pocket.


End file.
